Skin Deep
by StArCAtcheR17
Summary: 16 year old Castiel is forced to spend his precious vacation hours volunteering at the town's animal shelter. Convinced this is going to be the worst summer of his life, he gets a surprise when Dr. Singer drags a half-crazed mountain lion into the clinic and Castiel's dreams are suddenly plagued by a bright green gaze and a know-it-all smile.
1. Prologue

**_Hello! So it's been a while since I last posted a story! Lots of things have happened in my life in the interim! I fell in love, got engaged, all good things! Unfortunately that means I've been reading a lot of fan fiction rather than writing it! Even as my interest in the show has waned a bit, Dean and Cas are still my favorite couple and I never get bored of the Destiel fandom! Thanks for reading and your reviews are my bread and butter!_**

 _Summerset Valley Dispatch 3:17am_

Becky Rosen, feet propped on her desk and heels long ago abandoned, took a sip of her instant coffee and grimaced. Somehow coffee at three in the morning always managed to taste like sludge. The phone had been quiet for over two hours and she rapped her nails against the arm of her chair, wondering if she could risk a quick peek at the cooking channel's late night reruns.

Knowing her supervisor, the only other occupant of the office, was downstairs dealing with the single call that evening—some hysterical parent had reported a missing teenager who was later found sneaking into an R rated movie—Becky pulled up the latest of installment of a show involving ridiculously extravagant cupcakes and leaned back in her chair, basking the in the steady glow of the computer monitor. Musing over the various facets of fondant, she spilt half her coffee when the phone finally rang.

"Hello, this is Summerset Valley Dispatch. What is your emergency?" she blurted into the receiver.

A kid's voice answered. "Hello? Can you hear me? There's been some sort of explosion. Something's gone wrong, I know it—Dad and Dean said they'd be back by now."

Explosions were practically unheard of in a town like Summerset. Almost anything though was unheard of in a town like Summerset. It was most likely a prank call. Becky kept her voice calm and stuck to her script. "Where are you, sir? Can you give me an address?"

"I don't know. There's…uh…a park a little ways down the street with a red slide I think. Or maybe an orange one? There's definitely a swing set. They told me to stay there."

"Okay, I'm tracing your call right now but it will take a moment. Can you see a street sign from your location? I need an address."

"No. Wait—yes. Maple? Mapleton I think. There's a lot of smoke, it's hard to tell. The other is Lewis though. Mapleton and Lewis."

This wasn't progressing like a normal prank call. The kid should have hung up rather than provide an actual address. With a rush of adrenaline, Becky's fingers moved automatically through the process of notifying both the police and fire department.

"Great. I'm sending help right now. You said there was an explosion. Are you, or is anyone near you injured?"

"What?" The kid sounded scared.

"Are you physically okay at this moment, sir? Are you injured?"

"Yes, yes I'm fine. Hang on though—that can't be just smoke. It's the house; the house is on fire. What if they're inside? Dad's car is across the street, that's his car. Dean told me, he _told_ me it was just an 'in and out' job. Where are the firefighters? Doesn't this town have firefighters?"

"Sir—honey—I need you to stay with me. Firefighters are on the way. Where are you in relation to the fire? Can you tell me which house is burning?"

"It's the one with the blackthorn tree out front. It's just like Dad said, all twisty and stuff. They could still be in there—what if they're still in there? I have to find them. They were supposed to stop it tonight."

The call was getting progressively weirder. "Blackthorn? Sir? Sir, do _not_ enter the house. We _will_ take care of this but you need to remain calm. You can help us right now by letting us know exactly what you are seeing. Stay with me here. What's your name? How old are you?"

"I think I just heard a scream. No, I definitely heard a scream. Someone is in there! You said help is coming?"

"I did. Where do you think the scream came from? Can you describe what you are seeing? I need more to go on."

"Oh god. The roof. Roofs aren't supposed to make that noise…it's caving and Dean is still in there! He's got to be! I have to go—"

The line crackled on the other end and it was not hard to imagine there actually was some sort of inferno raging like the kid had described. "Sir, stay on the line with me. It's okay; everything will be all right. Help will be there shortly. Sir? Can you hear me? Sir? Sir!"

There was only static in response. Becky mashed the receiver further against her ear and pressed redial, willing the kid to answer. When none came, she called Henriksen.

* * *

Police Chief Victor Henriksen barreled his way through the horde of civilians packing the street and ducked under a sea of caution tape, double checking his hastily donned shoulder holster.

A tornado of a fire had swallowed 2124 Mapleton and now threatened to set the neighboring houses ablaze. Shouts from the firefighters that swarmed the surrounding rooftops carried distantly through the inferno and Henriksen's own police squadron was aiding their relief efforts in the flickering light.

Thin and rail-like, it was easy enough to spot officer Pete Demers, who stood by a police cruiser barking orders. He fought his way to the man's side.

"I got the call at three thirty this morning, Demers. Three thirty. What the hell is going on here?"

A muscle twitched in Demers's cheek. "It's difficult to say right now, Chief," he said, eyes fixed on the blaze. One thing Henriksen appreciated about his second-in-command was his ability to remain calm under pressure. "We had to pull the men out when the second part of the roof collapsed. Bystanders aside, we've evacuated most of the neighborhood as a precaution."

"And is it contained?" If it wasn't, they were in for a long night.

"Reports indicate the flame retardants are holding out." Demers indicated where several firefighters were spraying down lawns and rooftops with a rust colored liquid.

"Good, all according to protocol so far. Any casualties?"

Demers jerked his head toward a flashing ambulance. "We had to pull a kid out. From what we've gathered, it would seem he was attempting a rescue."

"You mean there are still people in there?" Henriksen bellowed, his temper rising hot and fast. "You should have led with that! How many, Pete?"

Demers considered him before he spoke. "It's hard to say, sir. The neighbors swear the place has been vacant for months now, so that eliminates the possibility of any current residents."

"It was my impression the kid reported his father and brother were involved."

"Yes, and we're on high alert for that very reason. Our lot has yet to find a single person beside the boy though, so if someone else is in there, he or she went quietly. Time will tell."

"You should have had at least a ten minute window to get in there before it got that bad. The fire station is right down the road, for heaven sakes. I saw the call log myself—the fire started seconds before the dispatch call."

"That's true," Demers agreed, looking uncomfortable. "Only this fire seems particularly…vicious." The fire leapt in a renewed roar, jumping and crackling as if it approved of his assessment.

"Vicious? It's a fire, Demers, not an animal," Henriksen coughed and covered his mouth with a sleeve. "Is the boy intact?"

"He's being treated for minor burns but yes, he's going to be fine."

Relief washed through Henriksen at Demers's words. At least he wouldn't have to answer to the press for a child's death. "What about the cause?" he asked.

Demers paused and glanced sidelong at his commanding officer. "It's been a strange night, sir."

Henriksen waited for him to continue but Demers was silent. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Extracting information from the usually forthcoming officer was a slow operation tonight.

"I believe there was some sort of animal mixed up in everything."

"You're saying a dog or something started the fire?"

"Or something." Demers swallowed like he was trying to organize his thoughts. "I had just jumped out of the cruiser when I glimpsed a long shadow streaking away from the blaze. I've seen quite a few dogs in my time, sir, but it wasn't like any dog I've ever seen. One of the officers, Mills, I think—you know how excitable she gets—shot a round at it and the thing shrieked. Shrieked, sir."

Sweat gleamed in the firelight off Demers's cheeks and Henriksen frowned. "If I didn't know you so well, Demers, I'd say you had been drinking tonight."

"No, Chief, I haven't."

"I know," Henriksen sighed. "How am I going to explain this?" He thought for a moment. "Suppose there was an animal involved. Have you called the shelter?"

"Yes. I left a message with the night crew. I'm expecting them at any moment."

Satisfied that all reasonable measures had been taken, Henriksen looked toward the lights of the ambulance. "Well, if we're done here, I had better see about that kid. Keep the civilians out of this, Demers, and above all else, _make sure that fire stays contained_. And, when you've a moment, let Wyatt know I'll be wanting to speak with him in the morning."

Demers visibly relaxed as Henriksen issued his orders. He was a good man, if perhaps a tad too imaginative. "Of course, sir," he replied with a salute and strode back toward the fire.

The boy sat huddled under a mountain of orange blankets. Probably thirteen or so years old, he sported a mop of shaggy chocolate colored hair that almost covered his eyes. A pair of tennis shoes whose half-peeled soles were wrapped with duct-tape hung from the kid's feet as he swung them over the edge of the dock. Propped against the ambulance door, he fingered a set of fresh gauze bandages on one arm as the paramedic squad rushed by.

"I told them they should be ready for when the firefighters bring that lady who screamed out," the kid said as Henriksen moved to sit beside him. A pair of intelligent hazel eyes peered from behind his bangs.

"No one else heard a scream."

"Doesn't mean it didn't happen." By all rights, the boy should have been hysterical; he'd just been pulled from a burning house. Instead, talking with him left Henriksen feeling distinctly wrong-footed.

"What's your name, kid?"

The boy ignored the question and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "Have you seen my dad or Dean?"

"Not yet."

"I don't think they're dead anymore, but they're definitely missing. Where do I file a missing persons report?"

"Filed a lot of those, huh?" Henriksen joked and chuckled.

"Not recently, no."

His laugh died. "Okay, one thing at a time," he growled, getting down to business. "Name first. What is it?"

The boy looked away. "Sam Winchester," he muttered.

"And were you here, Sam, when the fire started? Do you know what happened?"

Sam frowned. "You're not very sympathetic. I think I liked the paramedics better."

A shout rose above the din of the fire. "Chief! There's someone down here! I need a stretcher, stat!"

"And that would be the person I was talking about," the kid said. "Let's hope they weren't one of the good guys."

Henriksen cursed and sprinted back toward the fire. When he remembered to check the ambulance several minutes later, the boy had vanished.


	2. Saving Grace

Sixteen-year-old Castiel Novak flung open the door of his mother's mustard mini-van and stepped into the heat wave, slinging the rucksack that held his lunch behind one shoulder. Heat shimmered over the graveled intersection and his hair plastered instantly to the inside of his baseball cap.

"Have a great time today, honey. I'd drop you off closer, but I'm already late for my shift," his mother said in a bright voice and adjusted her mascara in the rearview mirror. It was a Monday because Naomi was wearing her purple scrubs; she had a different color for every day of the week. "Tell Bobby I said hello."

Next to where Naomi had pulled over, a sign nailed to a crooked fence post read "Saving Grace Animal Shelter and Rehabilitation Clinic" and almost a quarter mile down the road, the gabled peaks of a vast mansion rose through a layer of forest pine, yellowed windows gleaming like sleepless eyes. Castiel turned back to his mother, eyebrows raised.

Naomi overlooked the sarcasm. "Castiel, don't make yourself miserable on your first day, okay? Give it a chance. We're lucky Bobby was willing to make an exception."

And they were back to _that_. Somehow Castiel was expected to feel grateful his summer would be spent scooping poop. He thought of his best friend, Anna, already stretched out by the poolside, and wanted to hurl a little.

Castiel slammed the car door shut and leaned through the open passenger window. "Let's not pretend I want to be here, okay? I'm not even getting a paycheck." At least if he were being paid, he would be able to buy more charcoal and canvas for his art.

Naomi's expression softened. "You need to get out of the house, honey. It's not healthy to spend your life brooding. You're not sleeping again, are you?"

Castiel reached to touch the dark circles he knew existed under his eyes. "I'm not talking about it."

"Right—so you've said. Anyway, it's good to keep busy," his mother added for the millionth time, as if this were finally the moment Castiel would be convinced she was right.

His temper, a constant companion, flared. "You mean like yourself?" he lashed back. "So what, you never have to think about it? Has working all those back to back shifts made you any happier?"

Castiel had crossed a line, he knew it, but some part of him insisted that maybe if he pressed hard enough, his mother would repent and call the whole thing off. Instead, Naomi yanked the air conditioning up another notch and revved the van's wheezing engine.

"I'll see you at six. Behave yourself," she warned and before Castiel could snap out a comeback or even fall to his knees and beg Naomi to change her mind, she was gone in a trail of white smoke. Mutinous, he weighed the merits of hitchhiking back to civilization but, as sweat dripped down his back, decided the trek to the house would be worth it if only to find someplace cooler.

That was the problem with the Colorado Rockies in June, he thought. The daytime sun was fierce, but the nights were brisk enough that everyone still traveled in perpetual layers. He yanked his now stifling hoodie over his head, revealing a well-worn Zeppelin tee underneath.

At the end of the drive, an imposing wrought iron gate stood sentry. Ropes of overgrown ivy coiled around the gate's framework, obscuring the view beyond. Looking up at the main arch, he could see a faint inscription carved into the metal that both time and the ivy had rendered unreadable. Despite the press of the years however, the gate remained unshakable in its watch.

Castiel passed through the entrance and felt like he had stepped into one of his own charcoal portraits. A world of light and shadow unfurled before him; sunbeams spilled through a canopy of dark pine that engulfed the estate, dotting the titanic mansion. Standing at least three stories high, the lower half of the place had been built from a crumbling red brick and like the gate, ivy had invaded the upper wood siding, stretching like twisted fingers toward the roof.

If the yellowed windows that graced the mansion's gables had reminded him of eyes, then the deep porch wrapped around the front of the house was the mouth, complete with a collection of crippled lawn furniture sprawled across it like jagged teeth. Shabby umbrellas, lounge chairs and every type of weed imaginable grew from its warped floorboards and Castiel had the fleeting impression that the forest was swallowing the place inch by inch.

Despite a less than welcoming exterior however, two ancient double doors were propped open for business and a stubborn "WE'RE OPEN!" sign swung from one handle. With a deep breath, Castiel stepped over the threshold.

By all rights, the inside of a house that looked like Saving Grace should have been overflowing with a labyrinth of cobwebs, sheet-covered furniture and layers of sediment. Instead, trim and fresh, everything had been renovated to a style much more suited to a hospital than century-old home. Neat white tiles gleamed under florescent lights and the welcome hum of an air-conditioner played somewhere in the background.

While the first floor had undoubtedly once housed a foyer and attached parlor, the walls had been removed and now formed a large general space that served as the reception area. Bright and open, the room was broken only by a long granite countertop that divided reception from the rest of the clinic and the white washed door set behind it muted the calls and screeches of the morning's patients.

Pristine leather chairs were dispersed around magazine racks and a sleek black table served as the room's centerpiece. Generic pop thrummed from a set of mounted speakers and Castiel wiped his palms on the back of his jeans, wondering if he was supposed to sit down.

Only the rug splayed underneath the coffee table seemed out of place. Medieval in style, the edges of the piece were frayed with age. Despite its once vibrant hues having faded into shades of brown, Castiel thought the whole thing looked rather like a garden. Perhaps it had been saved as a reminder of the house's original decor.

He was studying the serpent wound through the rug's border when he noticed the headline of the newspaper draped across the table. "House Fire Ignites Mapleton. One Death and Two Missing Persons Lost in Blaze." Mapleton was only a half-mile down the road from his own house but he had yet to see the wreckage. He jumped when a voice spoke suddenly from behind the counter.

"Just put the alfalfa by the corral and set the rest of the stuff by the back door, Ash."

A young woman in a lab coat Castiel was sure hadn't been there a moment ago, sat behind a computer, eyes fixed on the screen. Her deep cherry hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she frowned at the monitor through a set of horn-rimmed glasses perched on the end of a slim nose. She did not look up as Castiel approached.

Castiel cleared his throat and traced a finger over the countertop. "Umm," he croaked, "I think I'm the new volunteer actually."

The woman paused in her typing and eyed him skeptically, her gaze flicking to the sunglasses Castiel had yet to remove. "You only _think_ you're the new volunteer? You either are or you aren't, sweetie."

Castiel always wore sunglasses. Otherwise a crystalline green, he had been born with a copper streak that partially obscured his left eye. It covered almost a third of his iris and while he had never been particularly bothered about it, other people were. People were forever looking at it and Castiel couldn't help but feel he was only ever half listened to when he spoke. He ended up wearing shades for all occasions to avoid the inevitable stares.

Other than his left eye though, Castiel figured he probably looked like the majority of the teenage identity crisis population. His hair was wild and unruly and even though he faithfully ran a comb through it every morning, it insisted in flying a million different directions. The Zeppelin tee he had thrown on that morning was peppered with holes and clashed horribly with his sweat-stained baseball cap.

The woman cleared her throat and Castiel realized he had yet to answer her question. "That's what I meant," he rushed. "I'm the new volunteer. I mean, my mom knows Doctor Singer and I guess they talked awhile back—"

The receptionist held up a single scarlet fingernail. "I'm going to stop you right there so you can save your sob story for someone who isn't expecting a food delivery—a late one at that—and doesn't have a hundred better things to do." She indicated a pile of charts stacked on the counter. "File that and then we'll talk."

Castiel regarded the charts with a sinking feeling and wondered if all volunteer jobs were like this. Hitchhiking home might have been the better option after all. He thumbed through the tabs at the bottom of each file. "You're serious?"

"Like a heart-attack. Now beat it," the woman said as if she couldn't believe Castiel was still standing there.

A new voice interrupted them however. "Ruby! What did I tell you about scaring the volunteers?" A man with white-blonde hair appeared from a back hallway.

Somewhere in his early thirties, the man looked like a rock star, sporting a deep V-neck tee under his lab coat. A single pendant swung from his neck and a pair of scuffed boots peeked from underneath the hems. Castiel's heart gave an involuntary thump of appreciation and he tugged his baseball cap further down his forehead to hide his blush.

Ruby frowned like she knew exactly what Castiel was thinking. The man however, with a wolfish grin, proceeded to dump another heap of charts onto the counter and smirked as the receptionist's glare found a new target. Dusting a hand off on his coat, he offered it to Castiel. "You must be Castiel?"

His cheeks burned. "It's Cas. Just Cas," he muttered. He had been the unlucky recipient of Naomi's "family tree" phase, and had inherited his name from some ancient and obscure relative. Anna, the incorrigible flirt, would have invented a wittier response to Balthazar's question, but Castiel was terrible at small talk. He had yet to land a date for that very reason—most potential love interests expected the conversation to be two-sided.

The man chuckled. "Okay, okay, no need to tell me twice. I'm Balthazar, the intern extraordinaire, by the way. And in case she didn't introduce herself, this ray of sunshine is our lovely receptionist, Ruby." He pointed to where Ruby still glowered. "She grows on you," he added with a shrug.

Castiel doubted he and Ruby would be getting along any time soon but nodded anyway.

Balthazar reached across the counter to tug at his backpack. "C'mon, you can't actually work on your first day. Let me show you around," he said and dragged him down the hall, leaving Ruby behind to sort the charts.

The hallway morphed into a corridor bordered by a long line of identical doors. "We were able to convert all seven of the first floor bedrooms into examination rooms during the renovation process," he explained and opened the first door. "We deal with a little bit of everything here at Saving Grace, from house-pets to wild animals. It's actually fantastic that we have the space to see the locals because the revenue it earns is what allows us to continue our wildlife rehabilitation project, which is the real passion of the shelter's director, Mr. Shurley."

Balthazar ducked his head toward him and lowered his voice. "I tell you what—if you spot the mysterious Mr. Shurley, he's rarer than any wild animal around these parts. I've never even met the man in person," he confided.

Continuing their tour, he led them into an exam room. A full stainless steel table sat in the middle of the room while glossy black cabinets lined the walls. The chamber radiated cleanliness; its floors glistened and a rack for disposable gloves hung neatly over a freestanding sink. Before Castiel could take more than a cursory look however, Balthazar pulled him through the adjoining door.

"And this is the staff-only area. This was the old servant's passage and runs parallel to the one we just came through. Nice isn't it?" he joked and gestured to the cracked floorboards. "Tile and decorations make the families that pass through feel better, but we don't technically need any of that back here. You're looking at pure original house, baby," he said, gesturing to the peeling wallpaper.

Saving Grace was a maze of endless corridors—door after door yielded only another room. Castiel was lost by the time Balthazar led them into a wider vaulted room overflowing with wire kennels. The instant chorus of a dozen dogs and cats greeted them.

"Welcome to the old refectory—our current patients seem to think it's snack time," he yelled above the noise, embarrassed, and grabbed a handful of biscuits as they passed an enormous treat barrel, tossing them into several of the kennels.

"I can't imagine why," Castiel yelled back.

"Yeah, don't tell Singer, but I'm afraid I'm rather the guilty party." He shot him a remorseless grin, fed the dogs a few more biscuits, and changed the subject. "So, Castiel, have you done this type of work before? Animal-related stuff?"

"We had a dog when I was younger," he shrugged. "Does that count?"

Balthazar shook his head. "It's okay, you don't have to know everything, that's the whole point of volunteering, right? To get experience?"

He couldn't help it—he snorted. "Right. Because every person's dream job involves filing charts and cleaning cages. You must turn prospective volunteers away in droves."

"Actually, _you_ are our only volunteer. You're also our first volunteer…you might say you're sort of an experiment in fact."

"What, seriously?"

Balthazar nodded and pulled a pen from his lab coat pocket. With an overdone flourish, he checked off an invisible square mid-air. "Castiel Novak? Present and accounted for."

Great. He was an experiment. The perks of forced volunteerism kept getting better and better.

Balthazar continued, oblivious. "Saving Grace has a small staff currently. Let's see," he paused and counted off on his fingers. "You've already met Ruby and myself, obviously. Then there are our two vet-techs, Ash and Charlie, who run the night shift and our custodian, Garth. That leaves Dr. Singer, our primary care provider.

"I don't think you'll meet Singer today. I saw him take one of the vans out this morning. We had a call about some sort of animal mixed up in the fire last week—I'm sure you heard—and he's been busy answering all sorts of hotlines and useless tips about it since then."

A telephone buzzed from a glass-paneled office in the corner of the room and Balthazar wavered as if trying to decide whether to answer. "I should get that," he said finally. "It's probably Ruby. She usually just calls to complain but you never know—it could be something important. Stay right here, okay? Give the dogs a biscuit if you'd like." He shoved the remaining treats into his hands and jogged to the phone.

However, by the wrinkle that deepened between Balthazar's eyebrows the longer he stayed on the line and the way he distractedly twirled the phone cord around one finger, Castiel figured the call must have actually been something important. At any rate, it didn't appear as if his tour guide would resurface any time soon.

Castiel turned toward a kennel where a friendly looking Labrador was giving him a soulful stare. "You saw him give me the treats, didn't you?" he asked and crouched by the mesh door. "What if I just put them back in my pocket like this?" He shoved a few into his jeans. "What would you do then?"

The dog drooled even more pitifully in response. Castiel sighed. "Fine. I'll give you one, but only because I'm a sucker for a pretty face."

Balthazar was now practically package-wrapped in the phone cord and his voice carried through the office door he had left ajar. "Really? And have they found him?" he asked. "No, no it's not a big deal, I'm just showing the new volunteer around. Go on."

And there it was, he had said it himself—he was no big deal. His mother didn't want to deal with him at home this summer and Saving Grace was already proving more of the same. It wasn't like he had been keen on volunteering in the first place though, so at least the feeling was mutual. Castiel tried to muster some satisfaction at the thought but fell short. He rose from his spot by the kennels and wandered back the way they had come, determined not to distract Balthazar from his call.

It took hardly any effort to get lost. As the barking faded behind him, Castiel soon found himself in a wing of the mansion renovations had yet to touch. The doorways he passed were all locked and barred and his worn purple converse trailed footprints through the dust in his wake. Here, at last, was what he had expected when he first entered the house.

A year ago, it would have bothered him to break the rules. He would have turned around at the first sight of his own dusty tracks and hightailed it back to where Balthazar was still undoubtedly tangled in the phone line. That Castiel had been an honor student and featured "up and coming" artist at the Summerset spring art festival. That Castiel would have cared, he thought with passing regret.

He knew why his mother worried. After The Bad Thing, the therapist had warned that grief could manifest itself in different ways, but Naomi still hadn't expected the panic attacks. The first time it happened, Naomi had flown through the school doors in a tornado of motherly concern. By the fifth time however, she was at wit's end for how to help her son.

In truth, nothing helped. Not the meds or the endless time he wasted in the therapist's office. In desperation, Castiel had started cutting classes—if no one witnessed his panic attacks, it was like they never happened. He had become such a master at hiding the affliction he had even convinced Naomi those days were behind him. They continued to fight over his truancies, but it was better than fighting over something Castiel couldn't control.

He _wanted_ control—each new attack was a horrific surprise. He could be riding the bus to school or pulling books from his locker. He might be in the middle of a harmless conversation and a tidal wave of panic would consume him. His heart would feel like it was pounding right out of his chest and taking a new breath became almost impossible, like the atmosphere had been drained of all its oxygen. Castiel had never been happier to see a school year end.

He wandered into a room that must have once functioned as the estate library. Sleepy golden light spilled from a wall of windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing a dark sea of pine. Currents of dust swirled among the bookshelf behemoths that sat sentry across the width of the room and the spines of the books they bore were cracked with age and scratched in spidery gilded ink.

Castiel made no sound as he passed among the shelves but even if he had possessed enough pluck to whistle a tune or rap his knuckles over the knotted wood, he had an odd feeling the room would have simply absorbed it. Anything might have occurred in and among the shelves over the decades and the room would have swallowed the evidence.

He ran a finger along rows of classic novels, but also along cloth-bound books whose names were entirely unfamiliar. _Libri Lucis_ … _Daemonologie_ … _Selkae Mysterie_ …and finally one book with no title at all.

He hesitated. While everything else in the room was coated in the same layer of dust, this particular tome and its place on the shelf were clean, as if it had been pulled out and read just yesterday. Curious, Castiel slid the book from its spot and opened the decaying pages, only to find he couldn't understand a single word. Complicated diagrams and peculiar symbols caught her eye and it dawned on him, from half-remembered Sunday Mass, that the original text was pure Latin.

He slumped down against the shelves, pulling the book into his lap and drifting through the pages like he was riding a tide, each new discovery pulling him farther out to sea. Who might have written a book like this and how had it ended up at the shelter?

Immersed, it might have been hour or perhaps only minutes later when Castiel shivered and emerged to find the library had turned cold as he read. The air was _crisp_ even. The back of his neck prickled with sudden unease and he looked up, overcome by the growing sensation he was being watched.

It was ridiculous, but he couldn't shake the feeling. "Ruby?" Castiel whispered into the stillness, forgetting the receptionist was on the phone with Balthazar. The quiet deepened without reply.

At last, a dim sound wafted to him, soaking through the shelves like a winter draft. Someone was breathing in the next aisle over. It was hard to tell for certain, but as the seconds ticked by, Castiel thought he could also hear the accompanying swish of a page being turned and the light patter of a footstep. He froze where he sat, rigid.

As he attempted to stifle his own quickening breath, he made an impulsive decision. Swinging his rucksack around, Castiel shoved the tome inside. He wasn't going to give himself away by trying to put the book back in its place.

His vision blurred for a moment and Castiel wondered if he was going to have a panic attack. The entrance he had come through was a mere fifteen yards away and no door had ever looked more inviting.

Slapping a hand across his mouth, Castiel tried to self-calm, a technique his therapist swore by, and told himself that even if he were caught out of bounds, the worst that could happen would be the loss of a job he hadn't even wanted. He repeated the mantra over and over again in her mind, but every impulse continued to scream he should make a run for it.

He had almost convinced his instincts to keep quiet and hope the visitor would pass her by when an impossible shadow darted across the edge of his vision and Castiel lost it—not caring whether he was seen, he bolted for the door.

He wasn't proud of himself for running, but there also wasn't supposed to an unattached shadow darting around in broad daylight. As he sprinted, he swore something kept pace beside him, flickering over the shelves.

Castiel slipped and slid across the planked floor, flinging himself through the exit and back the way he had come, eyes locked straight ahead. He might have run right out of the house entirely if he hadn't collided with a solid body.

He screamed and a man groaned in pain. "What the hell are you doing?"

Castiel looked up from where he had fallen, sprawled across the floor. Wonderful, clean cement flooring had replaced the cracked wooden planks of the library and Balthazar scowled down at him, rubbing his head.

"Has anyone mentioned you pack quite a punch for such a small kid?" he grimaced. "What are you doing back here anyway? I've been looking for you for ages."

Castiel chanced a glance backward. Nothing had followed him out of the library—the hall was empty. His breath still came in gasps though and Balthazar's expression changed to one of concern.

"What's going on? What happened to you?"

"Umm," he panted, rising to his feet. No valid excuse for blatant trespassing came to mind. He pulled a crumbling dog biscuit from his pocket. "I'm fine, nothing happened. I just had a leftover biscuit and thought there might be more animals down here…" he said and wished he had thought of a better lie, wondering what Naomi would think when he was fired less than an hour into the job.

Balthazar didn't fire him though. He frowned and rubbed his neck. "You know, this part of the house isn't technically open to guests."

"I figured," he said, waiting for the verdict.

"Some things are better left alone," he mused. "I'm not going to find you back here again, right?"

"Definitely not," he agreed. Out of the library, under the florescent lights, it was more difficult to believe what he thought had transpired could have ever been real.

Balthazar relaxed. "Good. Well, what do you say we forget about all this then? We still haven't finished our tour and I haven't even shown you the exciting part yet."

His blank expression made him continue. "The outdoor pens? Our resident wild animals? Does any of that ring a bell? You could start on the charts instead if you prefer."

The mention of charts caught his attention however and Castiel was able to focus. "No, no, I'm good. Pens it is please."

Balthazar led them out into the sunlight but, as his rucksack swung heavily behind her, Castiel's thoughts were of the book that sat buried inside.


	3. Dumb Advice From Best Friends

_**My lovely readers! You made it this far! I have a feeling this is going to be a long fic but I'm enjoying all the world building! Your reviews and encouragement keep me going so thank you!**_

It was Saturday and Anna had dragged him to the pool.

"So let me get this straight—instead of obsessing over the hot, available, and soon-to-be-veterinarian boy at the clinic, you're hung up on some weird books you saw by accident in a room you weren't supposed to be in. Stop me if I'm wrong please," his friend said as she rubbed yet another layer of tanning lotion into her perfect legs.

Castiel was grateful he hadn't mentioned anything else. After all, it was possible everything he'd seen had been a product of his own overactive imagination—a punishment from his guilty conscious for trespassing.

"Castiel, are you even listening to me?" Anna whined.

For no particular reason Castiel could make sense of, Anna Milton had been his best friend since the third grade. She had marched over one day in class to admire Castiel's art and, with a flip on her signature red tresses, declared the two of them would be friends. And because Anna was the sort of person who lived in a world that always seemed to owe her a favor, it was that easy. Even after last year, when every other friend had fallen by the wayside, Anna remained. Castiel wondered if she was just too stubborn to call it quits.

"Are you listening to _me_?" Castiel shot back, "I _took_ one of the books. It's right here." He slid the volume from his rucksack. Regardless of what had actually transpired at Saving Grace, the cloth-bound tome felt very solid in his arms.

Anna gifted him with an eye roll from under a pair of her mother's designer sunglasses. "So what? It's a book. Libraries have lots of them. Just put it back the next time you're there."

"That's the point. I'd be surprised if anywhere around here has a copy of _this_ book." Returning the book had been his constant thought over the past week but he hadn't yet mustered the courage to go back to the library.

Anna eyed the blank cover. "A mysterious book without a title…have you tried the fiction section?"

"This isn't—it's not fiction." Castiel flipped open to a random page and studied the thick Latin scrawl that looked so out of place by the poolside. "I can't read this. No one in Summerset can I'd bet."

"Right. Watch this." Anna snatched the book from his lap and started reciting in a terrible accent, "Deus in nómine tuo salvum me fac—"

Castiel lunged across the lounge chair, reaching for the text. "Stop it! You don't know what you're doing. It's not a joke."

With a gesture of surrender, Anna gave the book back to him. "Jeez Castiel, what's going on? I was just kidding."

"Well, I'm serious." Castiel moved to leave. There were only so many weekend hours until Monday morning came around again.

Anna sighed and pulled him back down into the lounge chair. "No, hang on. I can be serious too. It's just…Castiel, do you believe all this?"

He wanted to admit everything to Anna but kept silent. Crazy people told stories like his. This was real life and the sum total of his friends was sure to equal zero if he opened his mouth about shadows and foreboding feelings. "It's been an odd week," he said instead.

Relaxed, Anna leaned back into her chair. "Castiel, lots of things are odd. It's odd I haven't been discovered yet by a modeling agency or that our school football team has gone three straight seasons without a win. Believe me, the world has bigger problems than some old book."

"You might have a point," Castiel conceded, wishing he had never mentioned the whole thing. "Not about the football team though—they've always sucked."

"I wasn't aware you even knew we had a football team. Does that mean you'll try out with me for the cheer squad?"

"Please remind me why we're friends," he groaned for the millionth time, glad they were back in familiar territory. Anna wouldn't rest until Castiel was also donned in a perky uniform and waving pom-poms.

"That's easy," she replied, unperturbed. "We're friends because I'm fabulous and you're secretly fabulous. Plus, you buy me those little popsicles that taste like cotton candy when I come over."

"Secretly fabulous? That's hardly a compliment for a guy. I think you forget sometimes that I'm not one of your girlfriends."

Anna dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Pssh. Besides, if you would take off all that flannel and put on a Henley every once in a while…do you remember that hot leather jacket you used to own before, well, you know—"

"People change," he snapped, not willing to talk about it.

"Well, did you have to change into the most boring pair of trunks in existence? It looks like you're swimming in a beige trash bag."

"Maybe I like trash bags."

Anna rolled her eyes so hard she probably strained something. "Look—I'll tell you what's odd. When did little Andy Gallagher become so cute?" She grabbed Castiel's arm and pointed to where Andy was indeed slouched in a lifeguard chair, fiddling with his aviators and looking like the king of the poolside. Without question, the time he had spent in weight class that spring was paying off.

"Isn't he a sophomore?"

"A junior is allowed to date down if the sophomore in question is hot enough," Anna recited. "Bet if you got some of that action, you wouldn't worry so much."

Besides the fact that Andy was completely Anna's type, Castiel was sure his presence had utterly failed to register with the teenage half of the Summerset Valley Pool's population. He pulled a towel across his own pasty limbs and tried harder to fade into the lounge chair.

"I'll pass."

"So you wouldn't mind if he asked me out for Friday night?"

"Knew it. You work fast. It only took you like what, a week?"

"Six days," Anna corrected and lifted an eyebrow at Castiel's incredulous look. "What? I needed something to do while you were gone. We're going mini-golfing," she stated with pride, as if Andy was the first boy in the history of dating to think of combining romance with mini-golf.

"I suppose I hope you break a club then, or whatever it is golfers say."

Anna shot her a smug look. "Oh, I'm planning on making par," she purred.

Castiel forced himself not to laugh. "I really hope you weren't going to use that line on him."

"What? You're saying it doesn't work? It totally works. I can make anything work," she shot back, indignant. " _You_ don't work."

"Unfortunately I do," Castiel sighed, thinking of Saving Grace. He replaced the stolen book back into his rucksack, sealing it with care, and moved to skim through one of the thousand stupid girl magazines Anna had brought. Even mini-golf sounded better to what Balthazar called 'cleaning opportunities' at the shelter.

Though Castiel had been quick to complain that Naomi had signed him up for a summer of scooping poop, he hadn't actually thought it would be his main duty. Even filing Ruby's endless charts and stuffing donation envelopes had become preferable to cleaning out the next rancid cage. And, because more experience was required before he would be worthy of scooping wild poop, he hadn't yet been allowed to visit the outdoor rehabilitation pens unsupervised either.

Meeting Dr. Singer, a portly man who, even without a beard, reminded him of Santa Claus, had been underwhelming as well. Balthazar had been right when he said Saving Grace was short staffed: Despite Singer's physique, there still was never enough of him to go around—he had paused for a second to shake Castiel's hand before rushing to the next examination room, harried and flustered by a patient load that was easily the work of two doctors. To be fair though, he hadn't seen much of Balthazar either. He had disappeared into the chaos a flood of sick animals had brought to the clinic that week, only emerging to inhale his lunch and apologize as he dumped another heap of charts onto Castiel's desk.

Ruby at least was thriving. With a personal pile sorter at her command, the receptionist wore an ever-present smirk of satisfaction.

Anna must have read his mind because she asked, "Want some advice?"

"Not unless it's about how to fake being sick on Monday."

His friend shrugged and swung her legs over lounge chair so she could face Castiel head-on. "Look, you can't change the fact that volunteering sucks, but you can make sure this Balthazar guy notices you."

"Why would I care about that?" he asked, red-faced. "I mean, he's too old for me for starters and he might have a girlfriend or something…"

"Huh. I can't remember the last time a guy made you blush."

"It's not a big deal."

Anna looked as if she thought it _was_ a big deal, but let the subject drop. "Look, you don't have to marry the dude. I'm just saying that if you insist on wearing a jean shirt and grungy converse all summer, not only are you going to be miserable, but you'll _look_ miserable too."

"Is that your backhanded way of suggesting we go shopping?"

"Am I that predictable?" Anna asked with a coy grin.

"Yes you are and I'm probably going to regret this," Castiel predicted but shoved his towel into his pool bag anyway.

* * *

Thus, Castiel arrived for work on Monday in the most ridiculous periwinkle button-down the mall had surely ever produced. Anna had used the word adorable several times but he still felt exposed without his standard classic rock tee.

After several rounds of agonizing that weekend, Castiel had settled for shoving the stolen book underneath his mattress, promising himself he would return it when the time was right. He slipped behind the counter where Ruby was already engrossed in the morning's dictations and shoved his rucksack under the small section that had been cleared for his use. A pile of paper slammed down in front of him.

"Special delivery," Ruby stated.

Castiel leafed through the flyers. Each had a large black and white photo placed underneath a caption that read 'WANTED' in bold red letters.

"What's this?"

"Sorry, forgot you couldn't read," the receptionist snapped. "I believe these are called 'wanted ads'. For criminals."

Right. The explosion on Mapleton had been the sole topic of the local paper for a week now. Despite Colorado's famous winters, the state had been in a drought for over a decade and in a place where the fire danger level always ran somewhere between "Extreme" and "You're All Going to Fry", fires of any sort were serious business. Castiel disregarded Ruby's sarcasm in favor of more information. "You mean these are the guys the police can't find? They were involved?"

The photo showed two men, arms slung across one another's shoulders. In his late forties and sporting a thick beard, one man had been caught mid-laugh. The other was around Castiel's own age. He was looking at the camera with a half-smile as if humoring whoever took the picture. They didn't _look_ like criminals.

"For being illiterate, you catch on fast. The police have been scouring the town all week for these guys. You didn't notice the number of patrol cars had doubled? They've brought help all the way from Ashville."

"You think they're responsible? Someone died that night, didn't they?" he said, more to himself than to Ruby.

Ruby's eyes flashed though and she grabbed a flyer. "Someone _did_ die that night. And these two," she jabbed the photo, "are going to get what's coming to them."

"Oookay…" Castiel drawled, not sure how to respond.

Ruby scowled at the dark pair of Ray-bans he had slapped on that morning, probably trying to decide if Castiel was being sarcastic. "I'd just like to see a little justice being served. That fire could have easily spread through the entire town, my home included."

"Right."

"Just do your job and hang the flyers in the waiting room and outside the house," she huffed and stalked back to the reception counter.

Castiel hung the first flyer on the back of one of the massive double doors and stepped outside to hang the rest. Even in the shade of the porch, the dry press of the summer heat felt like a living oven, slowly baking the moisture from his skin. One of the less broken lawn chairs caught his eye and, after checking that Ruby was still occupied at her desk, he sat down. The chair complained at the added weight but held. With a grin of secret satisfaction, Castiel threw his hands behind his head.

He hadn't intended to doze off because he hated dreaming. In reality, it was only one dream Castiel hated but, ruthless, it insisted on running its course every time he closed his eyes.

This time was no exception. Bright flashes of light pulsed around him, settling into a blinding blizzard—a car slid over a mountain pass, spinning off the side—someone was screaming and Castiel was thrown weightless into a great black void—

The roar of the shelter's garage shook him awake. He sprang to his feet, but before Castiel could do more than snatch at the few remaining flyers he had abandoned by the porch rail, a Ford F-150 ripped past the side of the house down the gravel driveway, gone in a wake of dust before he could glimpse the driver.

He popped his head back into the house. "What was that?" he called to Ruby in a shaky voice.

"Probably none of your business," was the sole reply.

Still damp with sweat from the nightmare, Castiel made a face at the photo on the flyer before plastering it to the wall.


	4. Into the Woods

_**And, my darling readers, here is the latest update! Thanks for staying with me and I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the brilliance of snow days!**_

* * *

He bumped into Balthazar at a quarter to five. "Still here?" he asked. "You must want that perfect college resume real bad. I'm both impressed with all the free labor we're getting and disgusted by the state of our educational system." He eyed the bag of cat litter Castiel had draped over one shoulder and didn't say a word about the button-down.

"Or maybe I'm still here because I only have a driver's permit and am otherwise trapped until my mother shows up," he countered, grumpy with Anna and her dumb ideas. Lacking a mustard mini-van, Castiel figured Naomi must have gotten stuck at the hospital working overtime.

"Touché," Balthazar conceded with a tilt of his head. "However, I do happen to have a new skill for you to add to your resume if you feel you've mastered the art of cleaning kitty cages."

"Sure," he shrugged. Whatever he had in mind had to be better than sifting through litter.

He pulled him over to a window and indicated the small horse corral situated in the meadow out back. "The horses need some fresh water. Our resident goat, or Pukey, as I'm fond of calling him, keeps getting into the azaleas. The plants give him stomach trouble and one thing leads to another—let's just say the current batch doesn't taste so good."

He kicked himself. He should have said he was busy with the cats. "Is this another growth opportunity I should thank you for?"

"That's the spirit, Castiel!" Balthazar beamed, oblivious, and clapped him on the shoulder. He left, whistling a tune down the hall.

Castiel grabbed a hose that lay twisted in the weeds. "Backyard" was a loose term for the mess of weeds, rusted machinery and natural grasses splayed behind the house. The corral Balthazar had indicated was built from knotty forest pine and half of an old racing barrel had been placed at the center of the pen as a makeshift trough. There was indeed something yellowish floating in the water.

His first attempt at cleaning the thing involved trying to lift the barrel to dump it by the house gutter but it proved too heavy. Castiel settled instead for rolling it over onto the ground nearby and watched as the earth soaked up the foul contents. He could have sworn the queasy looking goat, leaning next to a couple flea-bitten horses, eyed him in disapproval.

"What?" he shrugged to the animal. "You won't even notice once it evaporates."

Castiel hauled the barrel upright and picked up the hose, realizing his error as he did so. "Guess this sucker should be running if you're going to get fresh water, eh?" he muttered to the goat and traipsed back to where a rusty facet protruded from the house foundations.

When he turned back toward the corral, dripping hose in hand, the goat was gone and the gate hung open.

Castiel's reaction to his life at that moment was less than dignified. He uttered a word his mother would have frowned upon and then used that same word some more when, almost an hour later, he was still trying to catch the stupid thing.

"I thought you were supposed to be sick," he wheezed as yet another lunge for Pukey's collar came up short. Breathless, sweaty and chasing a goat around a field, Castiel had no doubt he looked like the world's most incompetent volunteer. With exceptional timing, Pukey let out a merry "bleh" like he knew it too and then ran straight into the forest.

Even in the late afternoon light, the sweep of wood the goat had chosen was dark. Unlike the forest near the rehab pens, where the pine had been trimmed and organized like city blocks around each enclosure, this section of wood grew wild and he imagined that, like an ocean, it expanded, boundless, into the mountains beyond.

Castiel entered the forest with the same feeling of utter awareness that had plagued him in the library, alone and not-alone all at once. Each step felt like a trespass upon a foreign world. Rare beams of sunlight filtered down through the pines overhead and, as a breeze stirred their boughs, the trees moaned in an enigmatic conversation. Unnerved, Castiel paused, no longer quite certain in which direction the house sat.

As he stood listening, a strand of cloud drifted across the sun and a low howl sang over the wind. Long and unnatural, it sent a wave of goose bumps up his arms.

It was just a coyote, he reminded himself as a second howl cut through the wood, closer this time. A terrified bleat sounded somewhere to his right and Castiel bolted toward it. He drove through a thicket of oak brush to where Pukey most likely cowered. Wild wolves had been extinct in Colorado for generations but the goat wouldn't know that and although packs of coyotes had been known to scavenge the neighboring farm's livestock, a lone animal wasn't much of a threat either.

Bursting out of the brush, Castiel lost his footing and tumbled down a steep bank into a creek. He gasped as the water, fresh from the mountain snowpack, bit him. He scrambled at the boulders lining the streambed and pulled himself up, his soaked clothes and hair melting back into the flow.

He had landed in a petite meadow. Bright wildflowers dotted the long grasses and a grove of aspen trees grew in a perfect ring along the sides. Pushing damp strands out of his face, he discovered Pukey at the water's edge.

Despite his grand entrance, the goat stood stiff and alert. Ears pricked forward, he stared unwavering into the trees. Castiel waded forward and grabbed his collar.

"Gotcha! You may have won the battle my friend, but _I_ have won the—"

Castiel realized the meadow had gone quiet. There was no wind in the trees, no birdsong, no chirp of crickets. The clearing was silent. Not just silent, _expectant_.

Something was out there, watching them back.

Like the meadow, Pukey had known about the intruder and he felt the goat tremble under his hand. They both stared into the undergrowth, waiting. Castiel stood in the frozen water, both wanting and not wanting to know what lurked in the shadows.

It was impossible to judge how long he stood, senses straining, but the forest refused to give up its secret. Where in one moment he had been certain he was being watched, in the next, a hesitant chorus of crickets swelled up from the grass and the world was once again normal.

Pukey also seemed to decide that whatever danger they might have been in had passed and resumed munching on the bracken fern that grew along the creek, leaving Castiel to wonder if he had imagined the whole thing. Soaked and suddenly freezing, he dropped the goat's collar and extracted himself from the creek.

He stumbled only once at the edge of the bank, landing on his forearms. A peculiar cluster of imprints caught his eye. Fresh tracks, larger than any coyote's, had been marked into the mud.

They found their way home eventually and Castiel hauled a reluctant Pukey back into the corral, double-checking the latch this time.

"I hope you learned something today," he lectured in his best imitation of Ada. "Snacking on the azaleas only leads to trouble—" As he said it, Castiel slipped over where had dumped the dirty water from before and landed in a patch of still yellowish mud.

"That did _not_ happen," he groaned as a now familiar set of cloven hooves swam into focus. Already soaked, lovely patches of mud now decorated his shirt and the back of his jeans. He wiped a clump of it from his sunglasses. "This was supposed to evaporate."

Pukey let out a smug bleat and Castiel suspected that out of the two of them, the goat knew exactly who had learned a lesson that day.

* * *

Castiel stomped back to the house, taking the long way through the side yard instead of dripping mud inside. Turning the corner however, he lurched to a standstill.

In his absence, the front of Saving Grace had transformed into what looked like a scene from the summer's newest apocalypse thriller. Surrounded by skid marks, the Ford had returned and was sprawled across the drive. An eerie yowling sound rose from inside a transport crate strapped to the truck bed and a shower of medical supplies littered the lawn. The shelter's staff was attempting to shout instructions to each other over the din.

"Give him another dose of ketamine! This one's worn off."

"I did! Can't you tell?" another voice snapped as the crate shuddered back and forth.

"You must have missed then!"

Castiel counted a total of six people racing around the vehicle. A flash of red hair that undoubtedly belonged to Ruby shot by and he thought he recognized the two vet-techs from the night shift. Balthazar and Dr. Singer were also present and, even more curious, so was a police officer. Despite the fact that the late hour had done nothing to relieve the heat, he was dressed in full uniform, his badge glittering from a place of honor on his standard-issue navy jacket. He stood to the side as if unsure what he should be doing.

"That's the max I can give this guy," Singer shouted at Balthazar above the racket. "It ought to be working by now. I say we get this crate out of the truck and onto solid ground." At that, the police officer jumped forward like he finally understood what was required and began to direct people to either side of the truck.

For a moment, the crowd parted and Castiel could see what all the uproar was all about. A crazed cougar screamed from inside the transport crate and clawed at the bars that held it captive.

Castiel had seen plenty of mountain lions on field trips to the zoo and heard the frequent complaints on the news about local cats getting into garbage or hunting family pets, but seeing one like this was different. The cougar was liquid motion. Its coiled muscles shifted loosely under a coat the color of honey and it slid from one side of the cage to the other in a seamless dance. Its teeth were bared in a fierce snarl and the sight was so mesmerizing Castiel didn't notice the blood at first.

The cat limped from an ugly wound stretched across one of its hindquarters. Bright red and swollen, the area was deeply infected and a thick greenish pus matted the surrounding fur. Angry blisters pocketed the cat's coat and there were traces of blood around its muzzle. The sight was almost too much; Castiel snapped his eyes shut as memories of The Bad Thing threatened to spill into waking life.

However, at the cry of "One, two, three!" he fought down the nausea and watched as the crate was thrust from the truck bed. Almost as if the cat had planned for such a moment, it took the opportunity to ram itself into the side of the enclosure, causing its captors to stagger.

"Careful!" Balthazar bellowed. "He could get hurt!"

"Yeah, I'm so worried about that," Ruby barked as the cat took an expertly aimed swipe at her through the bars. "He seems plenty okay to me. Where did you say you found this gem again, Chief?"

"A backyard toolshed off Keller Street," he panted, struggling with his hold on one of the crate's lift bars. "The occupants of the home are on vacation. One of my officers, Mills, tracked the blood trail."

"Damn lucky she did," Singer inserted. "Just take a look at those wounds. This guy needed surgery days ago. Surgical is prepped?" He turned to Ruby.

She rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Did it as soon as we got the call."

Singer nodded and pointed to the vet-techs. "Bring me one of the transport trolleys so we can wheel this guy inside."

Castiel was faster than both Ash and Charlie. He grabbed a forgotten trolley from inside the garage and was almost to Singer when the policeman cut him off.

"Careful!" he warned, a frown developing under his mustache. The rest of the Saving Grace staff paused in their efforts, finally registering Castiel's presence.

Castiel strained to see around the officer. "You're in my way—Dr. Singer said he needed one of these," he stated, not caring that it was probably a stupid idea to harass a policeman.

The officer's frown deepened as he regarded his mud-caked backside. "Young man, I don't know what you think you're doing here, but I highly doubt your presence is required at this particular moment—"

A renewed round of yowling cut the man off however and his eyes flicked back toward the screaming cat. Balthazar ran over to where they stood, an armful of bandages threatening to topple from his hold. "Castiel!" he cried, suddenly less than friendly. "Why are you still here? Your shift ended ages ago. Can't you see this is dangerous?"

Castiel scowled. "I just want to help. What's going on?" Balthazar opened his mouth in answer, but Ruby appeared at his side with uncanny speed.

Time to go home, Castiel. Volunteers go bye-bye at five sharp."

In a fit of temporary insanity, Castiel forgot that his number one goal thus far had been to avoid working at the shelter. "I don't want to go."

"Shame," Ruby said and grabbed him by a muddy sleeve. As he was hauled away, Castiel caught a last glimpse of the cougar. It had paused its screams and was looking at him with a pair of clear emerald eyes. Not just emerald either—bright flecks of gold dotted the green and almost glowed in the afternoon light. Castiel had the odd idea that the cougar was studying him in that moment as thoroughly as he was studying it. A strange thrill shot through him.

Singer yanked the trolley from his grasp however and the yowling recommenced.

"Did it not occur to you that injured animals are dangerous, or are you stupid?" Ruby snarled and hauled him into the house. "Wild animals are dangerous enough when they're healthy and injured ones are just plain crazy!"

Castiel shook his head and let Gwen shove him into one of the reception chairs. "Stay," she ordered, like Castiel was misbehaving dog.

Some time later, after Ruby had left a series of increasingly curt messages on her mother's voicemail and Castiel, despite his best efforts, had managed to rub mud all over his seat, Balthazar finally reappeared.

"Balthazar! What's happening?"

He sank into the chair beside him; head slumped against the wall and arms drooping over the sides. "Everything. Nothing. I don't know—we're working on it. Ruby sent me over here to chew you out for being a reckless idiot, but I'm tired and that can wait for tomorrow." He gave him a strange look. "Is that a new shirt you're wearing?"

Singer yelled for Balthazar suddenly however and the intern sprang from his seat, rushing back down the hall. Castiel picked a mud flake off his shirt, lacking words for the irony of that moment. And, later that night, he still didn't have any words to explain to his hysteric mother why a police officer had personally insisted on dropping him off at the door.

Castiel went to bed as always, expecting to dream of Alphie, but when he finally closed his eyes, a bright emerald gaze stared back at him.

* * *

 _ ***All reviewers will receive a personal snow day dance from yours truly, complete with flushing ice cubes down the toilet and sleeping with my pajamas turned inside out.**_

 _ ****Snow days not guaranteed****_


	5. Weird Dreams and Weirder Kids

_**Well hello again my ever-lovely readers! I would like to start by dedicating this chapter to the fact that Supernatural is on hiatus at the moment which means I have more time! Voila!**_

 _ ***bows to invisible audience***_

* * *

 _A funnel_ o _f trees held a silver moon trapped in their boughs. Moonlight had transformed the world into a silhouette, bathing the path he walked in wan light. The wood was dense and seemed to shrink the farther he travelled as if it might swallow him whole._

 _At first, Castiel was alone. Then, a heartbeat later, he wasn't. A second pair of footsteps had joined him, snapping through the undergrowth and a pair of eyes gleamed through the darkness._

 _The voice spoke from nowhere. "Where are we? What kind of mojo is this?" it demanded. He walked faster, careful not to look to either side._

 _"How would I know?" His voice fell flat into the depths of the forest._

 _The eyes narrowed. "Shouldn't you? Isn't this your party?"_

 _"My what?"_

 _"Like I said, it's your party. You're dreaming, stud. This is a dream I take it? Do you even know what you're doing?"_

 _The voice was solid, and then it was not. It became a whistle through the treetops and an echo into the night. The trees branches crackled and popped around him, twisting themselves into claws and a sudden wind tore through his hair, whipping it like a lash. Fear flashed through the speaker's eyes._

 _"If you don't know what you're doing we're both in trouble," it said and the world around him dissolved into nothingness._

 _Castiel woke before sunrise, out of breath and clutching his sheets to his chest. It was the first time he hadn't dreamed of Alphie in a year. He rolled out of bed, fumbled for paper and charcoal and began to draw._

* * *

Castiel was the one waiting for Naomi by the door the next morning, rucksack in hand and ready to go.

His mother was naturally suspicious. "You're awfully chipper. Mind sharing what the rush is all about?" she asked, gathering her purse from the coat rack and rummaging for her keys.

"What's with the third degree?" Castiel huffed, not sure what it was about Naomi that made him so defensive. "I couldn't sleep so I'm doing something productive with my time for once. You should be proud."

He wasn't sure whether his new dream qualified as a nightmare, but falling back asleep afterward had still proven impossible. Naomi once again eyed the circles under his eyes in disapproval, as if Castiel had any control over his sleeping (or lack thereof) habits.

"It was a harmless question, Castiel. You can put the claws away. Besides, if we're going to discuss anything, it ought to be about your newfound friendliness with Summerset's police force."

"I told you Officer Henriksen was already at the clinic. He offered to take me home since my own ride," Castiel said with emphasis, "was a no-show".

"Honey, I said I was sorry about that and I refuse to keep apologizing. I couldn't help that Hannah was late for her shift. You know I can't just up and leave my patients. I would have come for you as soon as I was able." Naomi had been successfully distracted, saving Castiel from having to explain Henriksen's original presence at the clinic. He didn't think his mother would be impressed at his almost-meeting with the cougar.

"Yeah, I know."

"Was Bobby angry? The woman who left all those messages on my phone seemed…flustered."

Flustered was a mild way of putting it. Naomi was always trying to see the best in people, which annoyed him. Sometimes people just stunk. "No, that was Ruby. She doesn't like me much."

Naomi, keys in hand, unlocked the van. "You know, I find people always appreciate a smile or kind word. Maybe if you—"

Castiel cut her off. "Why is everyone always telling me how I should act? Maybe she just doesn't like me because she's a conniving weasel."

"Hmm. It's hard to imagine why someone wouldn't warm up to you," Naomi mused with not a little sarcasm and started the car.

Castiel tried to convince himself that his subsequent pout was a _defiant_ one.

* * *

He burst into Saving Grace, half expecting the cougar would be laid out in reception, ready for him to inspect. Instead, he was greeted by Ruby's familiar scowl.

"I'm going to stop you right there. There's nothing to discuss, we're not talking about it."

The half formed question died on his lips. "What? The cougar didn't make it?"

"Still in surgery."

"For how long?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm sure someone will let us know if anything changes. In the meantime, I'd like you to deal with that." She pointed to where Castiel, in his haste, had missed a sleeping boy sprawled across the leather seats.

"Who is it?"

Ruby shrugged. "Dunno. I found him like that this morning and didn't feel like dealing with it. That's what volunteers are for."

The kid was almost too slender for his age and a mop of long bangs had fallen across his eyes as he slept, fluttering with each breath he took. He was wearing a pair of jeans that had been badly patched in several areas and the sole of one sneaker had peeled, exposing a dirt-encrusted sock underneath.

"Don't you keep this place locked? How did he get in?"

For the first time, Ruby looked uneasy. "As I'm sure you remember, we were quite busy yesterday evening. It's possible the door wasn't properly secured."

"You mean you forgot to lock it?" Castiel wanted to hear her admit she had made a mistake but Ruby refused to give him the satisfaction.

"Just deal with it, okay? Figure out where this kid belongs—call his mother—whatever." A light on the reception phone flashed and she answered, putting the receiver back after only a second. "I'm needed in surgery. Just, you know, take care of it." She gestured to the sleeping boy and left.

A closer inspection of the unwanted visitor revealed he was probably only a few years younger than he. Even spread over such an awkward angle across the seats, the boy still managed to look peaceful in his sleep and Castiel felt a sudden impulse to reach out and wipe a sooty smudge from where it had lodged on his forehead.

"Hey, kid," he muttered, unsure whether he should actually touch the boy. He settled for poking him on the shoulder with a single finger. Sure enough, he startled awake in a tangle of wayward limbs.

"Watch it!" he yelped.

A pair of inquisitive hazel eyes peered up at him. "Is it morning already?" he asked, voice thick with sleep. "Are you Doctor Singer?"

The boy's gaze lingered over his sunglasses and Castiel leaned away, realizing they were much too close, the boy's nose only an inch from his own. "Guess again. Do I look old enough to be a doctor?"

He squinted, sizing him up. "I guess not. Isn't this the Saving Grace Animal Rescue and Rehabilitation shelter located off Highway 9 though?" he asked in one gulp like had memorized the address.

"You're not wrong. I'm Castiel though, just a volunteer. Who are you?"

"You work here?"

"I sort the files and scoop the poop, yes. I suppose that counts."

He could almost see the boy thinking. He sat up straight and adjusted his shirt, raking a hand through his bedhead in a useless attempt to flatten it back into place.

"Same for me," he said in a measured voice like the idea had just occurred to him. "That's why I'm here too."

"For the poop?"

"To volunteer. I want to be a volunteer." His voice grew more sure as he repeated himself. "I'm Sam, by the way."

"Great. That still doesn't explain what you're doing camped out here. Where's your mom?"

Sam looked away and Castiel recognized his expression. He had worn it himself for much of the past year. "Dead," Sam mumbled.

"Sorry. I didn't mean…do you have a parent? Guardian? Fairy Godmother? Someone has to take you home, you can't just hang out here."

Sam looked at him like he was slow. "I said I came to volunteer."

Castiel's sympathy vanished at the obvious lie. As someone who had made a habit of not quite telling the whole truth as of late, he could see the fib written all over the kid's face.

"Care to try that again with the real story? I'm sure it's a good one."

Sam's shoulders slumped. "I'm saving it for another time," he replied in monotone, dropping the facade.

"Then I can't help you. I'm supposed to send you home."

Sam ignored him and stood up, peering into the hallway behind reception. "What would you call a home anyway?" he asked and sidestepped toward the counter. "Is it where you currently live or have lived the longest? Does it have to be a house? Is it the people inside it who make it a home?"

"What? Where do you think you're going?"

He pointed down the hall. "I'm going to find someone who's actually qualified to register me as a volunteer. No offense," he added.

"Well, no offense, but you're a little creepy," he snapped back. Castiel might not agree with Ruby on many things, but Sam had to go. He planted himself between Sam and the rest of the clinic, pulling his sunglasses off to meet him eye to eye. "Sam—it's Sam, right? Today is a really busy day and we're wasting time here. C'mon now, who do I call to take you home?"

Sam paused, distracted by copper. "Can I at least get a tour back there?" he said after a moment.

"Absolutely not," Castiel growled, wondering if he should call the police and if interacting with said police twice in less than twenty-four hours marked a major life change for him he ought to be concerned about.

An eerie scream cut through their standoff however. Sounding from deep in one of the back rooms, its thin cry permeated the air. A gleam of some emotion he couldn't identify flashed across Sam's expression and they boy took a step back, hands held in surrender.

"It's okay, I can tell you're busy and I've overstayed my welcome. I can walk—you needn't call anybody. Can I ask you for something though, Castiel?"

"Sure?" he said, distracted. Perhaps if he agreed Sam would leave all the sooner.

"Promise me you won't let him give up."

"Excuse me? Let who give up?" The kid was nuts.

Sam tilted his head to one side, like he was the one who couldn't understand Castiel. "You know who I mean. You have the gift, I can tell. Just…think about it."

"You're crazy." It was good to say it out loud.

"Maybe. It looks like you're about to call the police though. Don't feel bad, I'm used to it," he sighed.

"Darn right I am," Castiel said and strode over to the phone. When he looked up however, Sam was gone and he was left explaining to the station's rather cranky dispatch lady that he was not, in fact, pranking the police department.

* * *

While debating whether or not to tell Ruby about Sam's disappearance, he ran smack into Balthazar.

"How do we keep meeting like this?" the intern groaned, rubbing his head. Castiel noted the crimson stains speckled over his scrubs.

"What's happening? Is the cougar okay? I thought I heard—" he blurted, forgetting that Balthazar and his perfect wave of hair made him nervous.

"We just finished in surgery," Balthazar said without elaborating.

"And?"

"And we've moved the cat to recovery," he shrugged, walking away from Castiel toward the break room.

It was unlike him not to throw out a joke or give him a hard time. "Are you upset with me or something?" Castiel demanded, running to catch up.

Balthazar looked sideways at him. "Would you be referring to how you could've gotten yourself killed by a wild animal yesterday? Yes, I'd say I'm upset about that."

"Really? I thought it was just Ruby—I was trying to be helpful! Besides, I didn't even get close enough for a good look."

Balthazar slammed a hand against the wall. "Castiel! That's the whole point! You were never supposed to get 'close enough for a good look'. God—I swear my heart stopped when I saw you come running! How could you be so reckless?"

He shrunk at the frost in his voice. He hadn't meant to make Balthazar worry. He was always disappointing people it seemed. Naomi, Anna, now Balthazar…

The intern must have seen the regret written on his face. "Look, let's not fight. I've been in surgery for the better part of the last five hours. I'm just exhausted and cranky. We're okay, so you can quit it with the kicked puppy act. It's just—you have to be careful, Castiel, all right? We're a vet office…no animal is ever exactly thrilled to walk through our doors, whether it's a cougar or a hamster. You have to take precautions. Can you promise me that?"

"I guess I wasn't thinking," he conceded before adding, "Is the cat going to make it?"

Balthazar scowled at the mention of the cougar but replied, "That guy's case is a bit tricky. Surgery on those sort of leg and chest wounds went as well as could be expected but it's still mostly a game of "wait and see" at the moment."

"Wait and see?"

"Yeah," he echoed and wandered over to the break room's single vending machine, fishing through his pocket for change. "We gave him the best treatment we could and now we're waiting to see…" he trailed off.

"Whether he lives or dies," Castiel finished with a sinking feeling. Sam's strange request rang in his ears once more.

"Promise me you won't let him give up."

"I wish I had a better answer to give you but until we know either way, it's best you stay out of it and don't get too attached," Balthazar said and handed him a candy bar.

"Can I at least see him again now that he's in recovery?"

"You're really asking me that? After what I just said?"

"Yes," he breathed against his better judgment.

Balthazar looked like he was seeing him for the first time. "You're like a dog with a bone, aren't you?"

He shrugged.

"You won't like what you'll see," he said.

It took Castiel a second to realize his answer hadn't been a "no" and Balthazar had already left the break room, headed down a corridor he had yet to explore.

"You mean you'll take me?" he yelled down the hall. The intern rolled his eyes and beckoned for him to catch up.

"I don't suppose you have any other insane demands you need to get out of your system?" he asked.

"And yet despite my supposed insanity, you were the one who agreed to this." He paused before adding, "Are there wolves in the woods?"

"Yeah, I hear Big Foot's keeping one as a pet."

"Very funny." Castiel would have liked to mention the tracks he had found but then he would have had to admit the disaster yesterday had been.

They stopped in front of a chain-linked door that led down a narrow row of concrete kennels. Balthazar pulled a clipboard from the side of the first kennel, rifling through its pages.

"I'm going to warn you—surgery isn't pretty. The cat looks bad and while part of that is due to the injuries he came in with, the rest of what you'll see are the aftereffects of all the drugs, needles and stitches we pumped into him. You sure you're game?"

Each kennel down the row appeared empty except for the last, where small tufts of golden fur spilled through the fence links. Castiel nodded and slipped through the door.

"I'll be over here when you're finished. Call if you need anything and, for the love of God, don't touch the cat," Balthazar said.

He approached the end kennel with trepidation. Much to Naomi's disappointment, Castiel had never shown any appreciation for her field. While his mother held a weird sort of reverence for the town's ever-fluctuating ER, blood, pus and wounds held no fascination for Castiel. Even the hospital's waiting room had freaked him out on the rare occasions his mother had been unable to find a sitter and both he and Alphie had been forced to wait out Naomi's shift in the children's section, coloring with what remained of the hospital's collection of half-chewed crayons.

It figured his mother's idea of a summer job included phrases like, "drugs, needles and stitches". Castiel supposed he ought to be grateful that until now he hadn't been involved in anything that made his insides revolt.

Braced for the worst, he felt an odd sense of calm wash over him upon glimpsing the cougar.

The cat was enormous, far larger than Castiel remembered. Stiff, it lay propped against the side of the enclosure, its right leg extended into a cast. A nylon muzzle had been strapped over its snout and eyes, secured by a long Velcro strip. It was hard to tell at first whether the cougar was breathing, but with a shudder, its diaphragm faintly rose and fell.

Its once sleek fur coat was a mess. Besides having been shaved in all the places that now sported ugly red train track stitches, parts of its coat appeared singed, as if patches of it had simply burnt away. Its forelegs and chest in particular had received most of the damage and thin burn scars wove up and down them in a twisted dance.

Balthazar had been right—the cat looked defeated. Still though, the feeling that he was supposed to be there with him persisted. Throwing a glance back to where Balthazar was making notes, Castiel crouched down by the kennel door.

"Hey big guy," he whispered. The cat gave no indication he could hear him, but he kept talking. Great. Two weeks into the volunteering deal and he was well on his way to becoming a crazy cat-whisperer.

"It probably seems real bad right now, but I want to let you know I think you look like a fighter. You sure looked like one last night—you had those guys quaking in their boots. Just, ah—" he felt like an idiot repeating what Sam had said, "don't give up, okay?"

The cat still hadn't moved, but was it just him or was he breathing a little easier? He kept talking. "By the way, I think you have a friend out there. He's a weird kid for sure, but now I think he spent the night here to be closer to you. So don't go anywhere, okay? People here are rooting for you. I'm rooting for you."

The cougar was breathing easier, he was sure of it. His chest had stopped shuddering and now rose and fell in a smooth cycle. It was weak, but loads better than before.

Ruby's voice drifted in through the doorway. "So that's that then?" she asked Balthazar. "Singer said everything checked out normal?"

Balthazar's reply was muffled but still audible. "Yeah, if by normal you mean that it's perfectly normal to spend three hours pulling a bullet from its hindquarters while the patient is still conscious, then yes, everything went great. Treating that thing's secondary wounds alone was an odyssey. I tell you, if Singer didn't have such a steady pair of hands…let's just say that between the sheer size of the surgical job and the cat fighting him the whole way through it, I don't know anyone else who could have done it."

"You're not saying it was awake?" Ruby hissed back. "We used all the stocked syringes on it. I filled the replacements this morning."

"We got him under toward the end—it's crazy but one minute he was awake and fighting and in the next, he almost flat lined. He's still out right now, I let Castiel check on him."

"You let him in there? Do you want a lawsuit?"

"Calm down—Singer approved it and he was curious. The cat's still asleep, there's nothing to be worried about."

"Well maybe you both need more to do if you have the time for social visits."

Balthazar groaned. "Okay, okay, I can take a hint, boss-lady. We're outta here."

Time running out, Castiel whipped out his phone and snapped a picture. "I'll be back, I promise," he whispered to the cat.

* * *

 _ **Thank so much for your reviews and encouragement! I love hearing what you think!**_


	6. Trespassing

**Thanks for waiting! My computer decided to break-up with me this month and erase my hard drive, making me rewrite just about everything! Worst break-up ever. The good news is that I now have a lovely new rebound computer to post this next installment on!**

* * *

Anna rang the doorbell three times. It was Friday night and Naomi was at the local tavern enjoying happy hour with some girlfriends. Castiel on the other hand, was nesting in a pile of dirty laundry he was too lazy to wash, stereo pumping out an electrifying ballad.

A shrill voice drifted through the open window. "Castiel! I know you're in there! The eighties are calling and they want your crap taste in metal back!"

"My taste? As compared to your halfhearted anemic alternative pop? Because that garbage doesn't qualify as music, Anna," he shouted back without bothering to get up.

"Whatever. Don't you want to hear about my date? Come down from your tower, Rapunzel!"

A rock thumped against the window screen and Castiel grinned, switching off his music. A bluish twilight had descended over the street below and Anna stood in the yard, holding an overgrown dandelion and brandishing it about like a sword.

"Is that some sort of comment about the state of my hair? I _like_ my bedhead."

"Just get down here, okay? I feel like an idiot."

Castiel didn't so much open the front door as Anna burst through it. "C'mon, we're going out tonight!" she squealed.

"What about the oh-so-sappy details of your date? You're going to deprive me of forced conversation about Michael's dreamy eyes?"

"I lied to get you to open the door. You never care about how my dates go—don't blink at me you know it's true—I've accepted it, we're good. Now, where's your bike? We've got places to be."

"Wait—rewind. What are you talking about?" The sheer amount of energy Anna projected made the room spin.

Anna raised an eyebrow. "Well, you refuse to drive anywhere—ridiculous by the way—and Gabriel pirated my car for the evening. He should've stayed at college," Anna grumbled. Her brother, Gabriel, was three years older, infinitely cooler and had just finished his first year of college in style, rocketing home on gas fumes, a flat tire and a cloud of nicotine. He had then proceeded to drive Anna insane by refusing to fix his own ride in favor of hijacking his little sister's when he needed to party. Anna's preppy BMW was probably halfway to Telluride by now, filled with all flavors of drunken college kid.

"I meant, where are we going?"

"Oh—it's a surprise. Come to think of it though, grab a flashlight on your way out. I'll be waiting in the drive." And, as quickly as she had arrived, she was gone.

"I don't like surprises," Castiel mumbled to no one in particular and grabbed his keys.

As they rode their bikes through the deepening twilight, he could almost pretend they were ten years old again, weaving in and out of the light from the street lamps and instead of an empty house waiting for him, Castiel imagined he might come home to find Naomi knitting on the porch with Alphie fast asleep in her lap.

It was strange how one could feel homesick without leaving home.

He knew what Anna meant to do the moment they turned onto Lewis however. "Are you serious?" he said and slammed on his breaks. "You are full of terrible ideas."

"Like what?" Anna looped back.

"Your shirt scheme for starters. That was a disaster." The Henley in question had ended up stuffed in the back of Castiel's closet, mud and all.

Anna shrugged. "Fine. Maybe that's true. But you really aren't curious? I've been dying to check the place out for weeks but the cops were doing drive-bys like a racehorse runs laps."

"Probably to deter people like you."

"Like _us_ , my good man," she corrected. "And the rest of Summerset's teenage population too, including the tourists I bet. I won't force you to come in though if you're going to be a wimp about it—you can keep watch."

Anna's stupid plan didn't bother Castiel as much as the fact that he hadn't thought of it first. He had been so wrapped up in what was happening at Saving Grace, he'd forgotten all about the fire. Balthazar mentioned Singer had been tracking down the animal involved—had he caught the offender when he'd brought in the cougar?

The cat in question hadn't made any significant progress since the first and only time Castiel had been allowed to visit, but Singer claimed he wasn't concerned. The cougar had yet to eat, but had been drinking and the vet explained it wasn't unusual for an animal that had undergone extensive surgery to forgo food for several days.

Castiel still worried, but there was nothing he could do. He turned his attention back to Anna. "No, let's go," he said. "I'm in."

"That's the Castiel I know and love!" Anna hopped off her perfectly pink Schwinn cruiser, shoving it under the bushes that bordered Lewis Street's tiny Columbine Park. The park's playground was modest, featuring a simple set of monkey bars, a tire swing and a burnt orange slide. From the corner of his eye, Castiel almost thought he could see a shadow move on one of the play platforms.

"Are you coming or what?" Anna shout-whispered, halfway across the street. When Castiel looked back again, there was nothing unusual about the park however. He stashed his bike and ran to catch up.

"Sorry—I thought I saw—never mind," he shrugged and clicked his flashlight on.

A mass of neon caution tape blocked their path. It was the official kind of tape that read in big bold letters, "POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS". Not bothered in the slightest, Anna ducked underneath and motioned for Castiel to join her.

A blackened skeleton was all that remained of the house. Solitary beams cast a forlorn silhouette against the twilight and the evening's first stars were visible through what used to be the roof. With the exception of what endured of the melted plumbing that wound through the walls in a deformed maze, everything had been charred the same dead shade of black.

There was no front door; a gaping hole yawned over where the porch and entrance should have been. Crossing the threshold was as simple as stepping over a mound of scorched plaster and beams. Castiel felt sick as he crossed, like he had chugged too many cups of coffee without breakfast. Anna noticed his hesitation.

"Spooky, huh?" she said, reaching to touch a wall that looked so crisp it might dissolve under a single breeze.

"Don't," Castiel warned but Anna ignored him, her fingers coming away streaked with ash. The wall remained upright.

"See? It's fine."

Anna's confidence did nothing to placate his stomach. Castiel couldn't place why he felt so off; the best he could say was that something in the air, or walls or perhaps the very core of the house felt wrong. A faint metallic scent drifted underneath that of the fire and made his nose itch.

He followed Anna into what was once the kitchen. Tarnished appliances clung to hollowed counters and the burned husk of the refrigerator still stood resolute. None of the kitchen windows were intact; it was impossible to tell if they had melted under the heat or had been blasted from the house.

Anna was right—it was spooky in a desolate sort of way. A girl had died in the fire and they had wandered right into what felt like her standing mausoleum.

A scraping sound echoed from inside the pantry and Castiel jumped, instantly on edge. For a moment he was certain that whatever he had encountered in the woods had followed him to the house. He pushed Anna aside as a dark figure leapt from behind the door and without a second thought, threw his best right hook into the intruder's face.

The figure doubled over with a muffled cry. "Holy crap! You broke my nose!" it howled in a human voice. In a flash, Anna was at the stranger's side.

"For the love of God, Castiel! It's only Michael—it was a joke—you were supposed to scream, not start throwing punches!"

"What?" He shook himself back to reality and sprang forward to where Anna was trying to pry Michael's hands off his face.

"Let me see," Castiel demanded, shining his flashlight on the damage. There was definitely blood.

"Go away. Haven't you done enough already?" he groaned from between his fingers.

"Let him look, babe—his mom's a nurse," Anna cajoled, as if Naomi's profession made Castiel an expert on broken appendages. To his surprise however, it worked; after a couple of tense seconds, Michael cooperated and lowered his hands.

Castiel had been right about the blood, but there wasn't a lot of it and the lifeguard's excessively tanned nose still looked straight. He reached out and flicked it.

"Oww! What did you do that for?" Michael howled anew.

"First of all, don't scare me—ever. Second, you're going to be fine. Your nose feels perfectly normal and if you keep up with all this racket, you're going to get the cops called on us and I've already had my fill of the police this week, thank you very much."

Anna shot him a look at his mention of the police and Michael glared daggers at both of them. "Is he a robot?" He gestured toward Castiel with the arm that wasn't cradling his nose.

"You should also sit down, lean forward and breathe through your mouth to stop the bleeding if you don't want it all going back down your throat," Castiel added, ignoring his previous comment.

With Anna supporting him, Michael did as he was told and dropped to the floor, placing his head between his knees. Castiel scowled at his friend. "I was right—you are full of terrible ideas. Next time a guy asks you out, you should hand him a disclaimer."

"To be fair, I wasn't the one who punched him in the face." The corner of her mouth ticked upward though like she was fighting a smile.

No one spoke as they waited for Michael to recover but Anna sank down by his side, wrapping an arm about his shoulders. Something about the easy way she traced circles along Michael's back made Castiel ache. It was comfort, he realized. They looked comfortable together. Castiel couldn't remember the last time he had felt at ease with another person, even himself.

Michael, of course, then had to go and ruin the moment.

"I could've taken him," he mumbled from between his knees.

"Says the macho stud who just got his butt handed to him with a single punch," Castiel snorted. "Seriously, better stay away from angry six year olds and grandmas from now on."

"At least I'm not a mentally unstable shut-in."

Castiel recoiled like he had been slapped and Anna hissed, "Michael!"

"What? People talk. You think no one noticed his fits last year? I wasn't the only one."

"Babe, that's not fair—" Anna tried to say before Castiel cut her off.

"No, Prince Charming here is right, " he spat, feeling his chest start to heave. The familiar panic swelled as if sensing a chink in his armor. He would have liked to say something nasty to Michael but the lifeguard was just a mouthpiece, an endless record repeating what people already thought about him. Maybe it was even true. To fight him would be like fighting a single wasp from an angry swarm.

He fled instead. A full-on attack was coming and there were only moments left before the panic would overwhelm him and he would be unable to process where he was. He pushed past Michael and Anna, exiting the house through what was left of the back door.

"Castiel!" Anna yelled after him.

Vision blurring at the corners, Castiel stumbled outside. There was no cover—everywhere he might have hidden to wait out the attack had been razed and exposed. His pulse skyrocketed at the thought that Michael and Anna would once again be witness to his personal hell.

Heart pounding in his ears, he almost missed the set of cellar steps. Partially concealed on one side by a pile of debris and caution tape, they had escaped the inferno more or less intact. Shrouded in darkness, it was impossible to tell what waited below, but still Castiel staggered down the concrete stairwell, clutching at the walls for support. His hands came away stained with ash and bits of something red he couldn't identify.

He collapsed on a cool dirt floor and, sprawled in the dust, vanished into his own private darkness.

* * *

 **Reviews make me so incredibly happy! Please, please, please and thank you!**


	7. Trespassing II

_He was back in the woods. One moment he had been struggling to breathe, and the next, a moonless sky stretched above him and Castiel realized he was lying on some sort of hard surface, possibly a rock. He sat up._

 _He found himself sprawled on top of a massive sandstone boulder. He trailed his fingertips over the cool stone, feeling grains of sand separate under his touch. It felt real._

 _Like before, in one breath he was alone and in the next, he wasn't. There was someone beside him. "Sweet," the voice sighed. "Just look at those stars. I didn't think I would get to see this again. I mean, I don't know if this actually counts, but I'll take it, all things considered."_

 _Castiel glanced upward into the night sky and was greeted by an entire galaxy that blossomed before his eyes. Millions of tiny lights dusted the heavens, spread in an infinite swirl of constellations. The view above seemed to swallow the earth entire, the woods, meadow and even the boulder underneath him dwindling into the night until Castiel wasn't sure how anything else could exist in the face of such magnitude._

 _"Why wouldn't it count?" he heard himself ask._

 _The voice didn't reply at first. "Good question. If you don't know the answer though, stud, I'm not sure I can help you. My end of things feels a little fuzzy."_

 _Castiel turned over and found a boy his own age lying beside him, his hands propped behind his head as he watched the show. His caramel colored hair jetted a hundred different directions and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth like he knew Castiel was watching and was pleased about it. Over a set of wide shoulders, he wore a loose fitting green t-shirt and blue jeans that ended in a sturdy pair of work boots. A simple golden key hung from a thin chain around his neck and Castiel felt his fingers itch to touch it._

 _"See anything you like?" He flexed._

 _"You've got to be kidding me." His dream was hitting on him. At least, he thought he was dreaming. He had to be. Uncomfortable, he drew his knees to his chest, clasping his hands firmly around them._

 _Though it was pointless to interrogate a figment of his subconscious, he asked, "We've met before, haven't we? Who are you?"_

 _The boy's brow furrowed and he seemed to wonder the same thing. "I know who you are," he offered instead. "I'm not so good with names, but there's definitely something familiar about you." He looked at Castiel for the first time then, his eyes dark under the starlight._

 _"You're telling me my subconscious only sort of knows who I am? I'm more messed up than I thought."_

 _He flashed Castiel an impish grin. "Welcome to the club, bro. On Wednesdays we wear straightjackets."_

 _"Great, it has a sense of humor."_

 _"Hey, while I take full credit for any jokes, I never claimed to be your subconscious, you said that. Besides, I never forget a face and yours is—pretty memorable."_

 _"Pretty memorable? That's the best you can do?" The boy's gaze landed on his right eye and he reached automatically for a pair of sunglasses that didn't exist._

 _"You act tough but you're worried about what I think, aren't you?"_

 _"Absolutely not."_

 _"Well, on the off chance you were worried, don't be. I think it's cool. Where I come from—people would call something like that a gift."_

 _Castiel frowned. That was the second time someone had called it gift. "Why would I dream about you?" he wondered aloud._

 _"Because you can appreciate a fine specimen of manhood?" The boy winked._

 _"I'm not even sure I'm really dreaming. I thought I was having a—" he paused, reluctant to mention his panic attack to the boy. "In any case," he continued, "this can't be right because when I do dream, there's this nightmare…"_

 _The boy's smile faded. "I know all about those. Let me guess—it keeps repeating no matter how many counselors you see, glasses of water you drink before bed or what you tell yourself you're going to dream about," he ended and looked away._

 _Yes," Castiel frowned. "How did you know about that?"_

 _"Dunno. Subconscious superpowers?" he answered a little too quickly and Castiel had the impression he was lying to him._

 _"This doesn't feel like a dream though."_

 _"No, it doesn't," he said, face unreadable._

 _Castiel lay beside the boy, feeling like he was on the brink of some sort of revelation. There was something familiar about him, something he was missing. His whole body prickled in expectancy, becoming more and more intense. Suddenly it was too much—the prickling had escalated into a sharp spiking pain and Castiel felt as if he was burning from within._

 _He clutched at his sides as the woods around them began to flicker, like someone was turning a light switch on and off. "What's happening?" he cried._

 _The boy reached out a hand but it passed through him as if he were a ghost. He stared at his own fingers, horrified. "You're waking up, I think."_

 _As the forest dissolved around him, Castiel clung to the dream, unwilling to let go. "No, I'm not," he insisted even as the dirt floor of the cellar materialized underneath him._

 _The boy looked resigned. "I'll be waiting," he said in a small voice as his outline faded into_ black.

* * *

He woke, nose positively _burning_ , like he had inhaled a whiff of chili powder. The same metallic scent Castiel had caught wind of in the house had grown so strong he could almost taste it in the air. He had been dreaming about something important, he was sure of it, but already the dream was fragmenting, slipping away until all that was left to him was the image of a small golden key.

He had no idea how much time had passed, but the last of the daylight had drained away in his absence and the surrounding darkness was absolute. Castiel sneezed and scrambled for his flashlight, fingers spread over the gritty floor.

Clicking on the light, he understood what Alice must have felt upon falling down the rabbit hole. The cellar was decorated like a haunted house but without the tacky strobe lights and sound effects. Waxy tarps hung over every available surface and the dark shadows of bolted metal shelves and canned foodstuffs lurked underneath.

Everything had been tagged with an efficient white label, comprised of a series of letter and numbers. Castiel couldn't make sense of what it meant, but it had all been painstakingly catalogued like evidence. Not _like_ evidence, it _was_ evidence, he realized. He was standing in the middle of a crime scene.

Castiel sneezed again into the crook of one elbow and debated his options. While it was almost certainly illegal for him to be here, the thought of facing Anna and Michael wasn't any more appealing.

He stepped over a multitude of candles that had melted over the floor, leaving a web of puddled goo in their wake. The edge of one of the tarps had peeled away from the ceiling and Castiel reached out, pulling the rest aside with the tips of his fingers.

Blood was splattered like writing underneath.

In truth, Castiel wasn't certain what he was looking at even qualified as writing. Long splashes of it were streaked across the wall in an almost circular design. He held up his own palm in comparison and found that whatever he had rubbed on his way down was a perfect match.

Each bloodstain had been paired with a corresponding tag and he assumed whoever was running the forensic investigation had been trying to identify a pattern. Dark designs, letters unlike anything Castiel had ever seen had been scored in strokes so heavy he was surprised the wall had ever dried. They carried no meaning for him, but were clearly meant for someone. In their own way, the markings were oddly beautiful and Castiel felt a sudden need to know what they meant.

It was a bit like studying an optical illusion book, his mind whispered. He had owned one as a child and each page had featured an illustration that could be decoded into two opposing images depending on a person's perspective. His favorite page had featured a white vase that was also the black outline of two people. It had taken him ages to learn to shift his focus from the vase to the silhouettes and he felt now as he had then, struggling to resolve the strange markings into something he could make sense of. Giving up, Castiel pulled his cheap keyboard phone from his pocket and took a picture.

Saving the file to his phone felt like official law breaking. It was one thing to fall by accident into a crime scene and it was quite another document it. Besides, the longer he stayed in the cellar, the worse he felt. The back of his throat was now boiling with the same metallic tang as before. Racked by a fresh round of sneezing, Castiel staggered back to the stairs.

A small face was peering down at him from the top of the stairwell, lit by a sliver of moonlight. Sam had returned. Their eyes met for a split second before, wide-eyed, the kid disappeared from view.

Hot and fast, he was furious. "Hey!" he shouted, leaping the steps in twos. Sam might have vanished once before, but he was going to catch him this time.

Castiel bounded out of the cellar and raced across the lawn toward the park. He could see the kid's small frame as he darted across the street and disappeared into night.

He leapt over the police tap and straight into the arms of a police officer however.

"Got him!" a man's voice called as Castiel was pulled to the ground.

* * *

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